


Right in Front of Me

by shions_heart



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Denial, Emotional Abuse, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Slow Build, er basically sad gay with a happy end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 18:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5881798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shions_heart/pseuds/shions_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't think we should hang out so much anymore outside of practice."</p><p>* * *</p><p>Kunimi Akira's parents have <em>expectations</em>. People assuming he and Kindaichi are together because of their constant proximity is not conducive to these expectations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right in Front of Me

**Author's Note:**

> I had a sad thought and it turned into 6.5k
> 
> Enjoy?

When he was little, Kunimi Akira’s mother taught him many facts, which he clung to as he got older.

Fact #1: two plus two always equals four.  
Fact #2: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.  
Fact #3: the kanji of his name means “intelligent” or “superior.”

As time went on, Akira realized some facts of his own. For instance, it was a fact that if he neglected to clean his room he would be grounded for a week. It was a fact that his favorite sweet was salted caramel (he didn’t see that changing at any time). And it was a fact that Kindaichi Yuutarou was his best friend, and they would always be together.

These were his facts.

And in his young, naïve mind, he believed they would always be true.

Things change near the end of his second year at Aoba Johsai.

The team goes to Nationals. They don’t win, but they make it there, and for some of his teammates that’s enough. It isn’t for Kindaichi, though, and he stresses to Akira over ice cream that he plans to work even harder next year to win at Nationals. It sounds exhausting, but Akira is willing to go all the way with Kindaichi if that’s his goal.

Kindaichi gets so excited about the prospect, he winds up with ice cream on his nose. For some reason, Akira feels the urge to lean over and lick it off. His stomach squirms, and he stands abruptly, cutting off Kindaichi’s next sentence. He blinks up at him, startled.

“Kunimi-kun?”

“I’m getting some napkins.” He declares this like it has some deeper meaning, though he knows it doesn’t. It leaves an awkward blanket over them both, until Kindaichi nods.

“Okay.”

Akira hurries back inside the shop, face burning though he’s not sure why. He’s so intent on getting to the napkins, that he doesn’t see the group of boys in Aoba Johsai uniform until he nearly runs into them.

“Kunimi-kun?” The tallest of the four grins at him. Akira recognizes him as Shigino Hiroto, one of the boys in his class. Akira wouldn’t call them friends. Although their desks sit beside each other, they only ever speak to each other when they need to borrow a pencil or an eraser. Akira really knows nothing about him other than the fact that he’s smart enough to be in Class 6.

“Where’s Kindaichi-kun?” he asks, glancing over Akira’s shoulder like he’s expecting the taller boy to be there.

Akira blinks. “He’s outside.”

Shigino exchanges a look with his friends, boys Akira doesn’t recognize. “Are you on a date?” He turns back to look at Akira with a grin bordering on taunting.

Akira stiffens, alarm bells clanging inside his skull. “No. We’re not like that.”

“Are you sure?” Shigino raises an eyebrow, and the boys behind him snicker. “You’re always together. It seems like no matter where Kindaichi-kun is you’re not far behind, trailing after him like a lovesick puppy. It’s adorable, really.”

Akira’s hands curl into fists at his sides, his heart pounding hard against his chest. “I’m not like that,” he says slowly, as calmly as he can.

Shigino gives him a pitying look, like he’s speaking to a child convinced of the existence of Santa Claus. “It’s okay, Kunimi-kun. I understand. He’s taller than you, a better athlete than you, and already he has girls lining up to join his fan club. He’s really grown into his height, hasn’t he? Pretty impressive. It’s natural for you to admire him so much. But I’d be careful, you know? Some people might think you’re actually in love with him.” He reaches out, patting Akira on the shoulder none-too-gently. “And you don’t want that, do you?”

He smiles, but there’s something vaguely threatening about it. Akira narrows his eyes slightly, shaking his head.

“You talk too much, Shigino,” he says, as coolly as he can. He shrugs Shigino’s hand off his shoulder. “I don’t see why it matters to you what others think of me.”

Shigino’s eyes widen. “I’m just looking out for you, Kunimi-kun! I wouldn’t want any nasty rumors spreading about my classmate.”

“Hm.” Akira moves past him, picking up some napkins before turning back to Shigino with a tight-lipped smile, bowing slightly. “Thank you for your concern. If we’ve grown close enough to give advice, I feel like I ought to tell you that your acne has gotten out of control. You should really get that looked at if you want to get a girlfriend by Valentine’s Day.”

Shigino’s face darkens. “Excuse me?”

Akira makes his way to the door, waving over his shoulder. “Just looking out for you.”

As Shigino sputters at his friends’ laughter, Akira hurries outside, pressing the napkins to Kindaichi’s chest before grabbing his sleeve and tugging on it.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Kindaichi catches the napkins before they can fall, standing slowly. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. I’m just bored. Let’s play video games at your place.”

As they walk away from the shop, Akira can feel Kindaichi’s worried gaze on his face. He doesn’t say anything about the conversation he had with Shigino. He tells himself it was just a joke. They were messing with him. There’s no need to panic. Nobody thinks he and Kindaichi are together. They’re just best friends. Best friends always hang out together, don’t they?

But the seeds of doubt are planted, and they only continue to grow.

 

It’s not that Akira thinks there’s anything _wrong_ with being gay. He just knows he isn’t. He can’t be. His parents have “expectations.”

When he was ten, his mother read about a student rally concerning gay rights. She shook her head despairingly over it.

“Nobody respects tradition and family anymore,” she lamented. “Akira, I hope you know better than to follow this trend.”

His father had been less passive about it. “Don’t worry, Yona. Our son is smart enough to know better. He's going to pass on the Kunimi name with many children. Isn’t that right?” He’d given Akira a pointed look, and Akira felt the weight of it settling on his shoulders.

“Don’t worry,” he assured them. “I don’t like boys.”

It became another fact. It pleased his parents to hear it and at the time it was true; he had no interest in anyone in that way. He was more fascinated with science and dissecting frogs in his backyard, listening to Kindaichi squeal about how gross it was.

And if he's noticed how Kindaichi has filled out, gaining muscle, broader shoulders, a strong jawline, well that's perfectly natural. It's a change many people have noticed, as Shigino pointed out. Kindaichi's awkward over the new attention, but Akira can tell he's happy that he's no longer the dorky one. Akira tells himself not to stare whenever Kindaichi changes his shirt. And if his eyes do happen to linger on the strong curves of his back, arms, and legs, Akira tells himself he's simply admiring the structure of him. Appreciating a well defined form like an artist or scientist would.

It's a fact that he doesn't like boys. So Akira dismisses the images that come to his mind when he's alone in bed at night. They don't mean a thing.

 

The team makes Kindaichi captain. Akira isn't surprised, even when Kindaichi's mouth drops open, and the team cheers. He turns to Akira with a flushed grin, eyes bright with excitement, and Akira gives him a thumbs up, despite wanting to grab his arm and squeeze his bicep in a physical display of his pride in his best friend. He only half listens to Kindaichi's nervous speech about how they're going to win at Nationals next year. He finds himself instead watching Yahaba and Kyoutani at the back of the group. Their shoulders are touching, and Yahaba leans down to whisper something in Kyoutani's ear that makes their ace snort a laugh.

It's all well and good that they're together and happy. Akira is happy for them. But they don't have the same expectations and pressures on them. They're free to do as they wish. Akira's never had that freedom. He remembers his parents’ disappointment when he told them he was going to continue playing volleyball in high school.

“You're so intelligent, Akira,” Yona said. “Why do you want to waste your time on sports?”

“You're in a college prep class. You should be focusing on your career,” his father added.

“Kindaichi's still playing. Besides, it's good exercise,” Akira reasoned. His parents, knowing that their son’s laziness could lead to him growing frail, agreed that was a good solution to keep him fit. For now.

He knows they expect him to leave the sports world when he enters university.

He's already agreed that he will.

His intelligence is another fact. Even his classes in high school bore him, not being challenging enough. But he doesn't want to do even _more_ work, so he doesn't tell anyone this. But the fact remains that he must go on and choose a career that will bring pride to his family. He must marry a beautiful woman and give his parents beautiful grandchildren to carry on the Kunimi name and intellect.

Having a crush on his best friend isn't conducive to that goal, and if people start thinking he and Kindaichi are an item, that could drive potential girlfriends away. Maybe that's the reason he's received no confessions so far. Everyone thinks he's hung up on Kindaichi.

He doesn't like the solution his brain supplies. But he deems it necessary for his plan to succeed.

After practice, as he and Kindaichi get changed in the locker room, he keeps his pace slow. It's no surprise to anyone that he's lagging behind, and as usual Kindaichi stays with him. It's like it never occurs to him to keep up with the rest of the team. Akira grimaces inwardly, realizing another reason to go on with this strategy. He doesn't want to hold Kindaichi back from his own goals. What kind of friend would he be if he let his selfishness keep Kindaichi from reaching his full potential on the court and in life?

Kindaichi's rambling about the next school year, about how he plans to emulate Yahaba and Oikawa as best he can, though he admits he usually paid more attention to Kyoutani and Iwaizumi. He's just beginning to gush about how he and Akira can become the best captain and ace, when Akira interrupts him (he knows he's not going to become an ace anyway).

“I don't think we should hang out so much anymore outside of practice.”

Kindaichi trails off, his eyes widening. “What?”

Akira stares at the locker next to him, avoiding Kindaichi’s bewildered gaze. “We spend too much time together. People think we're dating.”

“Oh.” Kindaichi rubs the back of his neck. “And that's . . . bad?”

Akira rolls his eyes to the ceiling, trying his hardest not to think of his friend as an idiot.

“Neither of us will be able to get girlfriends if people think that, Kindaichi.”

“And you . . . want a girlfriend?”

Akira purses his lips and nods. Once.

“O-oh.” Kindaichi lowers his hand, his eyes turning toward the floor. “I didn't know you—I mean, if you think it'd be better . . .”

“I do.” Akira grabs his bag, flinging it over his shoulder, as he makes his way to the door.

“Wait!” Kindaichi’s voice breaks on the word and he sounds ten again. Akira freezes, glancing back despite his mind telling him not to.

Kindaichi's shoulders are slumped, and he looks back at Akira with a lost expression. “Are we still friends?”

Something twists in Akira’s chest. Something sharp that causes him to inhale against the pain.

“Obviously,” he says, adjusting the strap of his bag. He doesn't see why they can't still be friends. That's a fact that doesn't have to change.

Kindaichi smiles in relief, but it wobbles. “Okay, good.”

“I'll text you,” Akira says, turning to the door again.

He doesn't.

 

He stays in his room the break after graduation, applying to colleges, trying to decide what career would be best. He ignores Kindaichi’s calls, his texts inviting him out for ice cream or to a movie or to play video games. By the end of the break, Kindaichi finally seems to get the hint and he stops reaching out.

Akira tells himself it's better this way.

 

School starts up again in April, Akira’s third year. Newly seventeen, he's annoyed to find he's only grown a centimeter since his first day of school last year. Meanwhile, Kindaichi towers over the other students in the hallways, and when he sees Akira, his face lights up. He lifts his hand in a wave, calling to him, but Akira ducks into his classroom without a second glance, ignoring the snickering he hears from his classmates.

Kindaichi’s fan club has grown. He has two or three girls hanging around him at lunch, offering him bentos. He calls for Akira to come join them, but Akira feels his appetite leave him and quickly heads back inside.

Tuesday begins their first day of practice. After they greet the first years joining them, Kindaichi gets everyone stretching and then makes his way over to Akira. Remembering he told Kindaichi that being together at practice was okay, he doesn't shift away when Kindaichi sits beside him.

“I thought when you said we shouldn't hang out anymore you meant in public,” Kindaichi says under his breath. “Not that you wanted to stop hanging out altogether.”

“I've just been busy looking at universities,” Akira whispers back, thinking that at least is true. “I'm thinking of going to Tokyo.” 

Kindaichi's eyes widen, but Akira turns his gaze to the wooden planks under him, as he stretches out between his legs.

“Were you going to tell me?” Kindaichi asks, his voice small, hurt.

Akira’s chest squeezes sharply around his heart. “I don't have to tell you everything, Kindaichi. You're not my keeper.”

He stands, knowing that was harsh but not sure what to say when he's aching inside. He never thought he'd miss Kindaichi this much. But then again he's never been without him since they were eight. He can't remember much of his life before then, but he's sure he was fine. So he'll be fine now.

He just has to learn how to be without him again.

Kindaichi doesn't try to speak to him again during practice, not even to yell at him when Akira starts slacking off near the end. Coach Mizoguchi shouts at him, a vein in his forehead twitching, but when Akira glances over at Kindaichi, his friend simply turns away. It hurts, but Akira supposes he deserves it.

Kindaichi stops reaching out to him. He stops texting, stops calling to him at school. They see each other at practice, and Akira can't help but notice the hope that enters his eyes whenever their gazes meet. As practice goes on and Akira doesn't treat him any more than as a teammate, Kindaichi’s expression gradually falls until he's shuffling out of the gym behind the others.

One day, almost halfway through the first semester of their third year, Kindaichi corners him in the locker room after the others leave.

“I miss you,” he says, standing awkwardly in front of Akira as he pulls on his shoes.

Akira doesn't look up from tying his laces. “You're the one who stopped texting.”

“Because you're ignoring me!”

Akira moves to stand, grabbing his bag. “I'm just busy. That's all.”

“Have you got a girlfriend yet?”

Akira starts at the question, not having expected it. “No.” He tells himself it doesn't matter, but he can't help but add, “have you?”

Kindaichi shakes his head. “I don't want one.”

Akira inhales sharply. Slowly, Kindaichi reaches out to touch his arm, gently stroking his fingers down toward Akira’s wrist. A shiver runs down Akira’s spine, and he pulls away before Kindaichi can reach his hand. 

“What are you doing?” he asks flatly, to cover for the lump in his throat.

“Kunimi-kun, you're my best friend. I don't want to lose you.”

“People grow apart, Kindaichi. It just happens.”

“We're not growing apart! You're pulling away!”

Akira clenches his jaw, stuffing his hand into his jacket pocket. “I'm sorry, Kindaichi. This is just how it has to be.”

“Why? Why does it have to be this way?” Kindaichi asks, his voice desperate, and the sound of it tears into Akira’s heart.

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs, before turning and running out of the room.

 

He nearly falls over on the train home when he dozes off and there isn't a warm, solid shoulder to catch him.

 

Yona notices Kindaichi’s absence sooner than Akira hoped she would. “I haven't seen Yuutarou-kun around lately. How's he been?”

Akira doesn't look up from his homework, but he pauses his note taking, glancing to the side. “He's fine. He's captain now so he's busy.”

“He's such a sweet boy. Invite him over for supper.”

“I will.”

He doesn't.

 

Akira tells himself it'll get easier, but as time goes on he finds himself missing Kindaichi all the more. He gets a Popsicle during a hot afternoon, and he breaks it in half before realizing there's no one to share it with. He sees a poster for a new romantic comedy, and he almost texts Kindaichi about it, before remembering they won't be able to see it and make fun of it together. 

He begins to see all the things he never noticed before.

When his lips are chapped, Kindaichi’s not there holding out his lip balm with a faint grin. When his bento isn't satisfying, Kindaichi doesn't offer him a portion of his. When he can't sleep at night and ends up staring at the ceiling, his mind going a mile a minute with worries and anxiety, he can't call Kindaichi and listen to him whisper whatever random story comes to his mind to ease him to sleep.

He misses him physically too. He never really thought of it before, but they used to bump shoulders, knock fists, help each other stand. Akira often dozed on Kindaichi's shoulder, nuzzled against his back when he was tired. Sometimes Kindaichi would drape himself over Akira, a casual touch, looking at his notes or when they were hanging out with the team. It's just little things that Akira tells himself doesn't matter, but his skin itches, his chest aches, and more and more often he finds himself pressing back tears with the palms of his hand in the dark of his room.

These are new facts that Akira doesn't like at all.

It's just loneliness.

He needs to get a girlfriend.

 

The Inter High preliminaries are fast approaching, and not a single girl has confessed. He stares at himself in the mirror at home, wondering what the issue is. He has fine features, almost delicate ones, could that be the reason? Is he not buff and masculine enough? Is it because he doesn't smile? Do girls find him dull or intimidating? He tries a smile. It stretches his face in a way that feels unnatural, and it looks more like a grimace than anything else.

He wants to pick up his phone and ask Kindaichi what he looks like when he smiles the rare times he has. But he doesn't. Instead, he heads downstairs and finds his mother.

“Okaasan,” he says when he locates her in the study. “Am I unattractive?”

She glances at him. “Of course not, dear. You have lovely features. You get that from your mother.” She gives him a wink.

Akira bites his lip. “I'm not as tall as most of the other boys in my year. I'm not as strong either.”

“Perhaps not, but you're smarter I bet.” 

“Maybe.”

He's not sure the girls at school are looking for smart boys. He knows for a fact that Kindaichi gets at least two confessions a week.

Finally he decides he might have better luck if he's the one who confesses to a girl. But when he tries to think of one he might be interested in, none come to mind. He's not sure he even knows the names of any of the girls in his year. He never bothered to learn them. The next day at school he asks one of his classmates which girls in their year he thinks are cute. He lists off a few, and Akira makes a mental note to look them up after practice.

There's one that catches his eye, a tall girl with dark hair and dark eyes who plays on the girls’ volleyball team. Her name is Kirishima Mai, in Class 5. He knows walking up to her and simply saying “my parents wish for me to have many children; please take care of me” probably won’t go well, but he doesn’t have eloquent words to put into a confession letter either. So he finds out her favorite color, buys a small bouquet of flowers in said color, and waits outside her classroom until she exits with some of her friends.

She stops short when she sees him, one slender eyebrow rising. “Can I help you?” she asks, not unkindly.

“I am interested in dating you,” Akira says, struggling to put some inflection in his voice but unsure how well he’s succeeding. “Please accept my feelings.” He holds out the flowers, bowing stiffly. The girls surrounding Kirishima giggle behind their hands. He wills his cheeks not to burn.

“You’re on the boys’ volleyball team, aren’t you?” Kirishima asks, not taking the flowers.

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen you around. You’ve never seemed interested in me before.”

Akira’s starting to realize perhaps he shouldn’t have chosen someone able to match wits with him. He straightens. “My parents expect me to get a girlfriend and marry and have children,” he explains plainly.

“I see.” Kirishima doesn’t seem offended, but she purses her lips, studying him. She beckons for him to follow her into the empty classroom. He does, and she slides the door shut behind them, blocking out her friends, who groan in disappointment. Akira’s unsure if he should feel nervous or not. He almost flinches when Kirishima places her hand on his shoulder.

“Look, you seem sweet, but I’m not about to date a guy who doesn’t even know me or like me just because he’s sweet. Besides, I don’t think this is what you really want either.”

Akira frowns slightly. “What do you mean?”

Kirishima gives him a faint smile. “You used to be friends with Kindaichi Yuutarou, didn’t you? You two seemed like a package deal, always together.”

Akira’s ears feel hot. “Yes, but we’re not like that anymore.”

“Because you need to get a girlfriend?”

Akira opens his mouth, then shuts it. He really, _really_ should’ve picked a girl from a lower Class level.

Kirishima laughs softly, turning toward the door. “I think you worry too much about making other people happy. You should do what makes _you_ happy.” She glances at the flowers in his hand, and her expression softens. “Thanks for the flowers.” With a slight bow, she leaves.

Akira sighs, sitting down on top of one of the desks and looking at the flowers in his hands.

Do what makes him happy? If only things were that simple.

 

They lose the Inter High.

Akira really should’ve seen it coming. Despite how hardworking and encouraging Kindaichi is, they simply don’t have a setter like Oikawa, able to bring out everyone’s abilities 100%, or one like Yahaba, whose keen insight and ability to bring out the best in his ace helped propel them to Nationals. Their own setter, a second year named Fujikawa Hozumi, is good but not great. They’re an average team now. Maybe better than average, but not outstanding. They didn’t really stand a chance against the others.

Kindaichi does his best to cheer his team, telling them all that they’ll go back and win the Spring High Prelims. That he’s planning on playing with them all the way to Nationals. The team nods, but they’re tired and disappointed. The bus ride home is silent, and Akira spends most of it staring at the pointed spikes of hair that stand up over the top of Kindaichi’s seat. He could see the frustration in his face as he spoke to them, the way his jawline tightened, his hands clenched, even as he spoke words of praise and hope. 

Akira can’t help but linger in the locker room as the rest make their way home. Kindaichi sits with his elbows on his knees, hunched over with a towel draped over his neck. His hair drips onto the floor, and while he’s changed his pants, his shirt is still in his hands. He twists it slowly, shoulders shaking, and Akira bites his lip. He can’t leave him like this. Kindaichi’s worked so hard . . . he doesn’t deserve that.

So he sits beside him and slowly raises his hand to slide it across Kindaichi’s wide shoulders. His fingers tingle at the contact. Kindaichi’s skin is still damp but warm, and despite the circumstances, Akira feels his heart beating faster.

“I failed you.”

“No.”

“I did . . . I must have. We’ve never done that badly before. I-I don’t deserve to be captain.”

“You’re a great captain. We’re just an average team.”

“A great captain could make it a _great_ team.”

“Not necessarily.” Akira bites his lip. “I haven’t . . . I haven’t been playing as well as I could be. A few of us haven’t.”

Kindaichi lifts his head, and Akira’s gut clenches at the tears he sees in his eyes. 

“I’ll do better,” he promises before he can think better of it. “I’ll work harder. I’ll . . . I’ll be your ace.”

Kindaichi’s eyes widen. “You will? But . . . that means you’ll have to practice more. You’ll have to _train_ more.”

Akira grimaces. “I know. Don’t remind me.”

Kindaichi smiles, and Akira realizes he’s missed that smile. He’s missed so much. Carefully, gently, he places his head on Kindaichi’s shoulder. Kindaichi shifts into the familiar position, moving closer to accommodate him better. Akira looks down at Kindaichi’s hand as it lays between them on the bench, briefly entertaining the idea of taking it, before closing his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Not really. I mean, Iwaizumi-san always says that it’s six people on a team, so—”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Kindaichi trails off. His chest trembles, as he inhales deeply. “Oh,” he says on a sigh.

Akira turns his face into Kindaichi’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels the warmth of his skin against his mouth, nose, and forehead. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips against that warmth, a lingering kiss that has Kindaichi inhaling shakily once more.

“K-Kunimi-kun?”

Akira pulls away quickly, his chest feeling shivery, his skin feeling hot and itchy. He stands and turns away. “I know you gave us a week off, but I’m going to be here tomorrow. You can join me if you want.”

He doesn’t say anything more, simply leaves, but his lips tingle for a good ten minutes afterwards.

That night, he thinks about happiness.

 

Kindaichi’s in the gym waiting for him, a tentative smile on his face. It’s cute, but Akira tries not to let that distract him. He’s tired from getting up so early, and he’s really not looking forward to actually pushing his body to train well enough to improve, but he’s determined. He’s not about to let Kindaichi cry again.

They practice his spikes, with Kindaichi tossing the ball. Being a middle blocker, he can’t always get the angle right, but Akira’s patient with him. Eventually though, he tells Kindaichi to call Fujikawa, thinking the kid needs some training as well. They connect well enough, but Akira knows they can do better. They’ve just never had the motivation to do so.

It only takes three days before the entire team is showing up despite their vacation. They do drills and run laps and the gym is full of their shouts of encouragement. At the end of the week, Yahaba and Kyoutani show up, and they seem surprised to see everyone so hard at work.

“We came here to encourage you to keep going, but it looks like you’ve already done that,” Yahaba says with a grin.

“It was Kunimi-kun,” Kindaichi says breathlessly, flashing a grin. “He said he could do better, and got the others to join in as well!”

“Geez, you’re the captain,” Akira mutters. “Act like it.” He nudges Kindaichi in the side, but Kindaichi just beams at him.

Yahaba looks impressed. “I knew you had it in you,” he says with a grin bordering on a smirk. “I guess losing so badly was the kick in the ass you needed.”

Akira bites back his initial reply to that, squinting at Yahaba and telling himself not to flip off his senpai. “Just because you’re not here, that doesn’t mean we can’t make it to Nationals.”

“I agree,” Yahaba says. “I’m proud of you guys.”

Akira tries to hide how much that pleases him to hear. He turns away, running back onto the court, as Kindaichi begins to chatter on about his game strategy, asking Yahaba for his opinions. Akira feels a tap on his shoulder as he takes a ball from the cart and turns to find Kyoutani studying him with a furrowed brow.

“Show me your spike,” he says, in his gruff way.

Akira simply nods. Kyoutani was a powerful ace on the team, and he knows learning from him will only help him grow in his own skills. So he demonstrates his form, receives Kyoutani’s criticism, and makes the necessary adjustments. By the end of the day he can already feel himself connecting with the ball better, and Fujikawa looks flushed but excited by their progress (he ended up receiving some tips from Yahaba as well).

Akira’s exhausted when he gets home, and he flops onto his bed, not reaching for his textbook like he usually would.

Yona checks in on him later, finding him passed out with his book bag still unopened on the floor. She shakes him awake with a faint frown.

“Are you feeling alright? You haven’t started your homework.”

Akira yawns, blinking at his bag. “Oh. Right.”

Yona looks over his damp hair from the showers, shaking her head. “You know you can’t let volleyball get in the way of your studies. You have scholarship offers, Akira. You can’t take that lightly.”

Akira sits up. “I’m not,” he says, feeling guilt starting to settle in his stomach.

“Don’t waste that intelligence of yours on sports. You’re better than that.”

Akira nods, promises he won’t, but when he slides off the bed and opens his bag, the first thing he sees is his phone with a waiting message.

 **From: Kindaichi**  
**Subject:** awesome job today!  
_you did really great today!!! Thank you so much for your hard work. Nationals here we come!_

Akira tells himself Kindaichi’s just being a good Captain. He probably sent the same text to all of their teammates. But he can’t help but smile when he sends his reply, quickly tucking his phone in his pocket then to pull out his textbooks.

 **To: Kindaichi**  
**Subject:** re: awesome job today!  
_I couldn’t have done it without you, Captain._

 

They do training camps, they do practice matches, together Akira and Kindaichi watch hours of video of previous games, sitting shoulder to shoulder in front of Kindaichi’s living room couch just like they used to. They make strategies and game plans, techniques their teams can try to better themselves, and when Akira passes out with his head on Kindaichi’s shoulder they don’t talk about it. 

Akira notices, though, that Kindaichi continues to keep his distance outside of practice and these planning sessions. He’s not sure why it annoys him, but he feels irritated whenever he passes by Kindaichi’s table and sees him talking to his fans, not even looking up when Akira walks past. He knows he shouldn’t expect things to fall back into place so easily. He knows he did a lot of damage when he walked away from their friendship. But that ache he feels doesn’t hurt so much when he’s around Kindaichi, and he finds himself yearning to spend more time with his friend. He misses their camaraderie, their closeness, but he can’t push things, he know he can’t.

Besides, that weight is still there, pressing down against his shoulders every time he looks at the brochures and scholarship offers from universities in Tokyo. That voice inside him that sounds like his parents continues to whisper in his ear, telling him to find a girlfriend, get married, have children, pass on his superior genetics, make his family proud.

He’s finding that voice easier to ignore when he’s around Kindaichi. There’s a lightness in his chest that belies the ache seated deep within. He realizes that he’s happy when he’s with Kindaichi. Even if it’s just at practice or sitting side by side watching game tapes not saying anything other than volleyball speak.

He realizes he could do this forever and probably feel the same.

He realizes he’s probably in love with his best friend.

It’s just a theory, not yet a fact, but it’s one he wants to investigate, experiment with. Despite the warnings in his mind telling him his parents won’t approve, that they’ll be disappointed, he finds himself curious to know what it’d be like to press his lips against Kindaichi’s shoulder again. To press them elsewhere. On his chest, his neck, his cheeks, his mouth.

He wonders what Kindaichi tastes like, what his broad, calloused hands would feel like in his hair, on his back, his thighs. He wonders what Kindaichi’s hair feels like when it’s not spiked with gel. 

It’s distracting. He finds himself daydreaming over his homework. He finds himself staring in the locker room, just like he used to in their second year. If Kindaichi notices, he doesn’t say anything. Akira isn’t sure he wants him to notice. That’ll mean he’d have to confront this theory head on. And he’s not sure he can do that just yet.

 

They make through the Spring High Preliminaries. Their hard work pays off and they win the fight to Nationals. The bus ride back to Aoba Johsai is a complete contrast to the one after Inter High. The boys are shouting, singing, bragging about how they’re going to beat everyone at Nationals. Kindaichi sits beside Akira, face flushed, eyes bright, and Akira’s pretty sure he’s never seen anyone more beautiful in his life. He fixes his gaze out the window, blissfully allowing his brain to push away all thoughts and concerns about his future. He allows himself to bask in this moment, in the high of winning. His hand still stings from the many times he smacked the ball over the net, but it’s a satisfying sting. It reminds him of how well he did.

The team is still whooping and hollering when they get to Aoba Johsai, and they quickly shower and change, Coach Mizoguchi announcing he’s treating everyone to ramen. Akira’s feet drag as per usual, the exhaustion setting in after the warmth of his shower soaked into his aching muscles. When he pushes open the door to the locker room, still rubbing a towel over his damp head, he comes face to shoulder with Kindaichi.

Immediately he backs away, tilting his head back to look up into his friend’s face.

“We did it, Kunimi-kun! We’re going to Nationals!” He’s practically vibrating with excitement _still_. Akira has no idea where he gets all this energy.

“Yeah, we are.” He skirts around him, ignoring the way his heart is thrumming against his chest, as he goes to pull on his clean clothes.

Kindaichi follows him, though he lingers back a few feet and keeps his eyes respectfully on the floor. “I couldn’t have done this without you. You really pulled through for the team, Kunimi-kun! You worked harder than anyone, and I’ve never seen you do that before. I’m really proud of you.”

Akira’s face burns. He finishes changing but keeps the towel over his head, obscuring his face. “You’re the Captain. You’re the one who really pulled the team together.”

“But I had your help, which made everything better. We did it together, me and you, just like old times. I’m really happy.”

Akira closes his eyes, fingers gripped tightly around his towel. He’s not sure how much more of this he can take. He feels fingers at his elbow, and then Kindaichi’s turning him around, biting his lip, which tells Akira that he’s nervous.

Akira swallows hard, not sure what to expect. Kindaichi looks down into his face, eyes flickering toward his lips in a way that’s hard to miss. Akira resists the urge to step back. He reminds himself that this is what he wants. This is what he’s always wanted.

“Are you happy too, Kunimi-kun?” Kindaichi asks quietly, reaching up to gently push back the towel from Akira’s face, letting it fall back around his neck instead. 

Akira can only nod, all his clever words eluding him. Kindaichi moves his hand, slowly brushing his thumb across Akira’s cheekbone. It’s a light touch, barely any contact, but Akira feels his knees weakening, and his pulse hammering in his ears.

“You . . . you didn’t find a girlfriend, did you?” Kindaichi asks, his voice dropping even lower.

Akira shakes his head.

“Do you still want one?”

Akira finally finds his voice. “I never wanted one,” he admits, barely above a whisper.

Kindaichi’s eyes widen. They practically sparkle, filled with hope and tentative excitement, like a kid just before opening a birthday gift. 

“Does . . . does that mean I can, um, kiss you?”

“ _Yes_.” Akira doesn’t care how desperate he sounds. He doesn’t even wait for Kindaichi to lean down all the way before he’s rising on his toes to meet him, arms wrapping around Kindaichi’s neck.

Fact: Kindaichi tastes like his lip balm, which is pineapple.

Fact: Kindaichi’s hands feel strong and secure against his back.

Fact: Akira is most definitely in love with his best friend.

He’s not sure how long they stay there, but when they finally pull apart they’re both breathless. Kindaichi presses his forehead against Akira’s, his eyes still closed.

“Are you going to run away again?” he asks softly, biting his lip.

Akira shakes his head just slightly. “Never again. I promise.”

Kindaichi breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay, good. I’ve missed you so much.”

Akira presses another quick kiss to the corner of his lips. “I’ve missed you too.”

It doesn’t take all his worries away. The scholarships are still waiting for him on his desk at home. His parents still have their expectations, their own facts they believe he should follow. But Akira doesn’t feel that weight in this moment. In this moment he only feels the love he has for Kindaichi, the warmth in his chest filling that ache that’s lingered for far too long.

The other things can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


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